Chapter 7

Sergeant Davis Franklin was increasingly uneasy as he drove towards Clay Belkin’s house. His department’s Ford Interceptor was the only domestic car in sight. Beside him, Officer Luis Echevarria smirked. “Without my badge and gun, these people would think I was a gardener.” In the car, they used their familiar names. For obvious reasons, the Sergeant was “NotBen” and his counterpart was “Etch.”

They found the right street (“Via Diablo”? chortled Luis) and searched for the right driveway. The cruiser found a space between a Range Rover and a giant lifted Chevy pickup, wearing oversize tires and looming high over their patrol vehicle.

Both men got out of the Ford and arranged themselves, sliding a baton into each web belt and adjusting their caps. Instead of a button, a boxed camera brooded over the entrance. Franklin knocked on the door with his baton. From the camera: “Yes?” “City Police, we have an arrest warrant for Clay Belkin.” “One moment.”

A couple of minutes passed. Another, more insistent set of knocks. This time, a flustered woman’s voice from the box: “Coming ... coming.” The tall door swung open. An agitated 50-ish woman appeared. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

Franklin and Echevarria glanced at each other. “As you can see,” Franklin growled,” I’m Sergeant Franklin and he is Officer Echevarria from the City Police. We have an arrest warrant for one Clay Belkin. Are you Mrs. Belkin?”

“I am Noreen Belkin. My contact lenses aren’t in yet. Please come inside. It’s such a nice day. Would you like some coffee?”

“Where, Mrs. Belkin, is Clay?” An agitated Franklin ground his back teeth in frustration as she dithered. Suddenly an engine roared to life outside. Almost before they could react, there was a sickening crunch and a loud pop! Luis was out the door first with his gun drawn. Franklin also thought the pop was gunfire but soon holstered his weapon. Reaching into their car, he grabbed the microphone. “City Dispatch, Unit Three.” He waited. “Go ahead, Three.”

Suspect Clay Belkin, B-E-L-K-I-N, fleeing arrest warrant from 18 Via Diablo, in a white Chevy Pickup, highly lifted, current model.” He glanced towards Etch’s hand. “Plates are—Texas Seven Victor Drake, Eight Six Six. Suspect is a white male, blue, brown, about six feet, 210, and may have a scratched face.” He glared at Mrs. Belkin. “Clothing?” She looked evasive and shrugged. “No known clothing; are we understood, Dispatch?”

“BOLO going out now, Three. Are you staying at the address?” “10-4. We will need our unit towed.”

Belkin’s truck had clearly overridden and demolished the back end of the Interceptor. The pop sound was the left rear tire exploding under the extra weight. After a brief evaluation, Franklin whirled on Mrs Belkin. “You have one, only one, chance to avoid jail today. You’re going to tell me everything, right here, right now.”

Silently, she held her arms out, wrists together, ready to be handcuffed. With a contemptuous sneer on her face.